Kentish Poets: A Series of Writers in English Poetry, Natives of Or Residents in the County of Kent; with Specimens of Their Compositions, and Some Account of Their Lives and Writings, Volumes 1-2G. Wood, 1821 - Authors, English |
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Page 26
... give . That pleasure is mixed with every pain . Venomous thorns that are so sharp and keen Sometimes bear flowers fair and fresh of hue ; Poison oftime is put in medicine , And causeth health in man for to renew . Fire that purgeth all ...
... give . That pleasure is mixed with every pain . Venomous thorns that are so sharp and keen Sometimes bear flowers fair and fresh of hue ; Poison oftime is put in medicine , And causeth health in man for to renew . Fire that purgeth all ...
Page 30
... give in friendly part ; For the eye is traitor to the heart . And my suspect is without blame ; For as ye say , not only I But others more have deemed the same ; Then sure it is not jealousy , If subtle look of reckless eye Did range ...
... give in friendly part ; For the eye is traitor to the heart . And my suspect is without blame ; For as ye say , not only I But others more have deemed the same ; Then sure it is not jealousy , If subtle look of reckless eye Did range ...
Page 33
... ; For lack of wit the Lute is bound To give such tunes as pleaseth me ; And though my songs be somewhat strange , And speak such words as touch thy change , Blame not my Lute ! My lute and strings may not deny , But as SIR THOMAS WYATT .
... ; For lack of wit the Lute is bound To give such tunes as pleaseth me ; And though my songs be somewhat strange , And speak such words as touch thy change , Blame not my Lute ! My lute and strings may not deny , But as SIR THOMAS WYATT .
Page 36
... So did his heart the common weal apply . I am not he , such eloquence to boast , * " To paint , " means to deceive — to give a false colour to any thing . To make the crow in singing as the swan ; 36 SIR THOMAS WYATT .
... So did his heart the common weal apply . I am not he , such eloquence to boast , * " To paint , " means to deceive — to give a false colour to any thing . To make the crow in singing as the swan ; 36 SIR THOMAS WYATT .
Page 63
... give the unlearned reader a very clear conception of the original . " " Twas night ; the breathing winds , the waters cease , And through the still creation all is peace , Each being that has life , the scaly train That skim the rivers ...
... give the unlearned reader a very clear conception of the original . " " Twas night ; the breathing winds , the waters cease , And through the still creation all is peace , Each being that has life , the scaly train That skim the rivers ...
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Common terms and phrases
Albertus Morton appear beauty born breast bright Canterbury character charms court dear death delight divine dost doth dread Duncombe Earl earth Eclogues ev'ry eyes fair fame fear flame flowers gentle Gentleman's Magazine Giles Fletcher give grace grief groves hand happy hast hath Hawkesworth heart heaven honour John Duncombe John Lilly Kent Kentish King lady learned light live Lord lyre majesty mind muse never Nicholas Amhurst night nymphs o'er pain passion peace Phineas Fletcher plain poem poet poetical poetry pow'r praise pride Queen reign sacred shade shepherds shew shine sighs sight sing Sir Henry Wotton Sir Philip Sidney Sir Thomas Wyatt smile soft song Sonnet soon soul stanza swain sweet tears thee thine thing Thirsil thou thought translation unto verse virtue whilst winds wings writer youth
Popular passages
Page 192 - Come on, sir; here's the place: — stand still. — How fearful And dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eyes so low! The crows, and choughs, that wing the midway air, Show scarce so gross as beetles : Half way down Hangs one that gathers samphire; dreadful trade! Methinks, he seems no bigger than his head: The fishermen, that walk upon the beach, Appear like mice; and yon...
Page 249 - How happy is he born and taught That serveth not another's will, Whose armour is his honest thought, And simple truth his utmost skill!
Page 61 - Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage; If I have freedom in my love And in my soul am free, Angels alone, that soar above, Enjoy such liberty.
Page 23 - And wilt thou leave me thus ? Say nay ! say nay ! And wilt thou leave me thus, That hath loved thee so long In wealth and woe among : And is thy heart so strong As for to leave me thus ? Say nay ! say nay...
Page 147 - Shepherds, weep no more ! For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead, Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor. So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore Flames in the forehead of the morning sky...
Page 184 - At cards for kisses — Cupid paid; He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows, His mother's doves, and team of sparrows; Loses them too; then down he throws The coral of his lip, the rose Growing on's cheek (but none knows how), With these, the crystal of his brow, And then the dimple of his chin; All these did my Campaspe win. At last he set her both his eyes, She won, and Cupid blind did rise. O Love! has she done this to thee? What shall, alas! become of me? THE SONGS OF BIRDS What bird so sings, yet...
Page 21 - Now cease, my lute, this is the last Labour, that thou and I shall waste; And ended is that we begun : Now is this song both sung and past; My lute, be still, for I have done.
Page 250 - Whose armour is his honest thought And simple truth his utmost skill! Whose passions not his masters...
Page 246 - Nature seem'd in love: The lusty sap began to move; Fresh juice did stir th' embracing vines, And birds had drawn their valentines, The jealous Trout, that low did lie, Rose at a well dissembled fly; There stood my friend with patient skill, Attending of his trembling quill.
Page 215 - ... the wood, That warble forth Dame Nature's lays, Thinking your passions understood By your weak accents; what's your praise, When Philomel her voice shall raise? You violets that first appear, By your pure purple mantles known Like the proud virgins of the year, As if the spring were all your own, What are you, when the Rose is blown? So when my Mistress shall be seen In form and beauty of her mind, By virtue first, then choice, a Queen, Tell me, if she were not designed Th' eclipse and glory...